


You got me losing every breath.

by lumoon33



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Beard Kink, Comic Con, It is now, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, SDCC, Smut, Top!Dylan, accent kink, bottom!Thomas, i don't even know what's this blame comic con, is beard kink a thing, who needs a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoon33/pseuds/lumoon33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas loves rough kisses; he loves it when beard scratches his mouth and makes it itch when they've kissed for a long time, how numb his lips feel when he pulls away to catch his breath. </p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Dylan's beard turns Thomas on and Dylan has an accent kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You got me losing every breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this sucks, I hate Comic Con.
> 
> I want to dedicate this to Cassie and thank Lisa for the accent kink idea, I hope you guys like it.  
> Also special thanks to Kenzie for being an amazing beta.
> 
> English isn't my first language, blah, blah, blah... Enjoy it x

After they finish a round of interviews and photo shoots, there are a few hours left until the Scorch Trials panel starts, and Thomas knows how he wants to spend his free time. 

 

He pushes Dylan into one of toilets -- too roughly maybe, but he's too impatient to care -- and locks the door before he turns around to face him. 

 

Dylan is standing there with his stupid snapback on, an amused little smile, and his stupid beard; Thomas can't stand it anymore. He crashes his body against Dylan's, corners him against one of the cold walls, and presses their mouths together, his lips fast and demanding. 

 

Thomas loves rough kisses, and Dylan knows it; he loves it when sharp teeth scrape his sensitive skin and when they sink into his lower lip a little too deep, to the point blood mixes with spit; he loves it when beard scratches his mouth and makes it itch when they've kissed for a long time, how numb his lips feel when he pulls away to catch his breath. 

 

When Thomas stops the kiss for the first time, he's feeling that numbness in his lips and he's already half hard in his jeans. 

 

Dylan's hands go up to Thomas's shoulders and slide under his jacket, pushing it off him slowly. The jacket falls on the floor with a soft thud and Dylan curls his hands around Thomas's waist, crashing their hips together suddenly. Thomas hides his face in the crook of Dylan's neck, trying to stop his moans with his lips against his warm skin, but he fails and Dylan giggles, grinding faster against him. 

 

"I missed you," Thomas mumbles in Dylan's ear. He presses their cheeks together, enjoying the feeling of Dylan's beard rubbing against his skin, his stubble scratching it. "You did it on purpose, didn't you?" 

 

"What are you talking about?" Dylan asks, almost panting already, sliding his hands under Thomas's shirt so he can finally feel his skin against his fingertips. 

 

"You know what." Thomas runs his mouth over Dylan's jaw, pressing small kisses. The beard feels rough against his sensitive lips; it turns him on to the point his pants start to become uncomfortably tight around him. 

 

Dylan giggles, an amused, chirpy noise that makes Thomas smile with his lips still pressed to Dylan's jaw, but the smile is fast gone when Dylan grabs his wrists and makes him walk backwards so he's the one pushing him against a cold wall. 

 

"Maybe," he whispers, his strong hands pinning Thomas's wrists to the tiles over his head, and he leans in, brushing his lips lightly over Thomas's throat, his beard and his hot breath making Thomas shudder, and curse when a loud moan escapes his mouth. 

 

"I fucking hate you," Thomas groans when Dylan sinks his teeth into the delicate skin that covers his Adam's apple. He squirms, stuck between the wall and Dylan's warm body, tries to move closer towards Dylan and free his hands. He needs to feel more of him, but the grip on his wrists tightens and teeth sink into his earlobe, turning him into a shaking, moaning mess. 

 

"Repeat that in a Scottish accent and maybe I'll let go of your wrists." 

 

"Are you kidding me?" a little laugh leaves Thomas's lips, but something sharp and hot runs through his spine when Dylan doesn't laugh with him, he keeps licking and biting his already bruised neck. "You are a dick, stop teasing me," Thomas says, faking the best Scottish accent he can when Dylan's beard is tickling his neck and the tightness of his pants around his erection is distracting him. "I fucking hate you." 

 

Dylan groans and pulls back a little. He lets go of Thomas's wrists so he can take his shirt off, ripping it open with a sharp tug, not caring about the buttons, and throws it on the floor, Dylan's own shirt meeting it a few seconds later. 

 

Thomas reaches out, hands trembling with anticipation, and grabs Dylan's arms tightly. He wants to run his fingertips over every inch of his body -- the muscles of his back, the skin on his stomach and thighs, his nipples, his shoulders, the back of his neck -- but Dylan has other plans and falls to his knees before Thomas has a chance to react and bring their bodies closer. 

 

He wants to complain, tell him to get up and come back to him, but Dylan's fingers are already unbuttoning his pants, so Thomas stays quiet, biting down on his bottom lip, trying not to moan when Dylan hasn't even touched him yet. 

 

Dylan pulls down Thomas's pants and underwear at the same time, making him shudder with relief. His hips move forward, desperate to find friction, but Dylan wraps his hands around Thomas's waist, pressing him firmly against the wall. 

 

He keeps a strong grip on Thomas's waist when he leans closer, presses a kiss against his left hipbone. Moves his lips down, brushing his skin, and keeps going down, avoiding Thomas's dick, until he reaches his thighs. 

 

Thomas's hands fly to Dylan's head, he takes the stupid snapback off and throws it away, entangles his fingers in his hair. It's so much longer than the last time they saw each other, and Thomas pulls hard at it. He doesn't care if it hurts. Dylan is being a tease, rubbing his lips against his thighs, his beard scratching his sensitive skin, so close to where Thomas really needs friction; it's one of Thomas's biggest turn-ons, and Dylan knows that really well. 

 

"Fuck you Dylan, stop being a tease," he says, faking an Irish accent this time because he can play this game, too. 

 

"God damn it," Dylan mumbles against Thomas's inner thigh, his hands squeezing his waist before he gets up again and gets rid of his pants and underwear as fast as he can. 

 

Thomas steps out of his own pants and pulls at Dylan's arm, crashing their bodies together, their naked skin touching for the first time. 

 

"Yes, finally," Thomas moans, and he isn't faking an accent now. It's just his native British, but it makes Dylan shiver anyways. 

 

He tries to touch every inch of Dylan's body he can reach, running his hands over his shoulders and arms, scratching his back with his nails, pressing closer and closer, kissing his neck and his jaw, enjoying the roughness of his beard against his lips one more time. 

 

Dylan's hand is warm and soft when he runs it down Thomas's thigh, curling his fingers gently around the back of his knee and making him lift it up, wrap it around his waist. Dylan moves even closer, pushing their hips together. Their erections rub and Thomas needs to pull his head back against the wall to catch his breath. Dylan attaches his lips to his neck as soon as he can. 

 

There's this strange pressure in Thomas's chest, something so intense that it doesn't let him breathe, makes him feel overwhelmed and overly sensitive. This feeling that's only there when he's with Dylan, that makes his palms sweat and his lower lip tremble. He's missed this so much, Dylan's gentle but sure touch, his sweet smell, and the salty taste of his skin when he's sweating. He kisses him again; entangles his fingers in his soft hair, pulls at it to bring their lips together, and kisses him one more time, rough and almost desperate, whining into his mouth when Dylan gets one finger inside of him without previous warning. 

 

Dylan preps him slowly, adding another finger when Thomas can't stop the moans falling from his lips. He kisses Thomas, biting his lips. He licks the back of his ear and sinks his teeth into the soft spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his hand firm on Thomas's waist, rubbing circles there with his thumb. He touches in all the right places to have Thomas begging him to hurry up, already drained and wrecked only by his fingers inside him. 

 

Thomas's head falls forward, he rests his sweaty forehead on Dylan's shoulder and looks down at their pressed hips, their dicks, red and shiny, rubbing messily against each other, their stomachs covered with precum. He has to dig his fingers into Dylan's forearms to keep himself steady, his legs threatening to lose their strength at the sight. 

 

"Turn around," Dylan whispers when he considers Thomas is more than ready, his voice low and deep, as if he's afraid it might break if he speaks louder. 

 

Thomas does, he turns around facing the wall, rests his hands over it. They are sweating and he wonders if he could slip for not having something to grip, only the smooth, flat tiles, suddenly worried of falling down and making a fool out of himself. 

 

But then Dylan wraps one of his strong arms around his waist, his hand warm and reassuring against his hipbone, and he slides his other hand over Thomas's back, brushing his skin all the way up to his neck, running his hand over his arm until it meets Thomas's hand on the wall, entangling their fingers together. 

 

"Are you ready?" Dylan breathes out, raspy and full of lust, and Thomas is more worried about coming too soon than falling down. 

 

Thomas doesn't dare to open his mouth, knowing that if he tries to talk, all that will come out is a bunch of nonsense words mixed with moans. So he just nods and closes his eyes tightly when Dylan starts pushing inside him, his knuckles white for squeezing Dylan's hand so hard when it starts to burn, to hurt. 

 

The pain is replaced by a sharp, hot pleasure soon, when Dylan starts thrusting inside him at a slow but sure pace, his fingertips digging into Thomas's hipbone, his breath warm over the skin of his neck. 

 

Thomas swallows hard and opens his eyes, looking down at Dylan's muscular arm wrapped around his waist; his dick, hard and red, brushing against it, throbbing and leaking everywhere. 

 

Everything is too hot; Dylan's chest pressed to his back, his breath over his sweaty skin, his grip on his hand, the air in the small toilet, so warm and moist it isn't enough. Thomas rests his forehead on the wall, swallows again, closes his eyes knowing that if he keeps looking down he won't last more than one minute. 

 

"Fuck!" Thomas curses when Dylan hits the right spot, the hand that isn't clutching Dylan's closes over the wall, his nails scratching it when he tries to grab something unsuccessfully. "Right there, please." 

 

Dylan does what Thomas asks him to, hits that spot again, speeding up his pace, and attaches his lips to Thomas's neck, his beard scratching his skin one more time, ripping a low, loud moan from the back of Thomas's throat. Dylan tightens his grip over Thomas's waist when he notices his legs are shaking, close to giving up, and he pushes inside him again, harder than before, and doesn't stop until Thomas is screaming his name out loud, coming hard and warm over his stomach and Dylan's arm. 

 

There's a numb, dizzy feeling running all over Thomas's body after he comes. He feels satisfied and giddy, and the only thing that's keeping him grounded is Dylan: their hands still entangled, his arm still curled around his waist, his broken moans in his ear, his coming hot inside him, hitting that spot again and making him shiver one last time. 

 

When Dylan pulls out of him Thomas feels suddenly empty and lonely, but Dylan breaks away with a little giggle and a small kiss against Thomas's ear. A happy smile appears on his lips, even though there's this bitter worry in the back of his mind, wondering when they will be able to do this again. 

 

Thomas stays still for a few minutes, with his forehead against the cold wall and his eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing and waiting for his skin to stop feeling so hot, to stop itching. When he turns around, resting his back against the wall, Dylan is already dressed up, looking at him with that amused little smile, his cheeks red and his hair all messed up. 

 

 

"You're so cute when you're this drained." He walks closer and presses a kiss to Thomas's nose. "Get dressed, we have a panel to attend," he says after he moves away one more time. He picks up his snapback off the floor and leaves the toilets. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!


End file.
